by Sophia North
"No further service required, mio dolce," Gabriel replied warmly, placing a final soft kiss on her pouting full lips. "I'll have a car brought round to take you wherever you'd like to go."
The disappointment of his refusal for further love play was evident on the young vampress' beautiful face, but he ignored it. She had no idea who he really was, nor the danger she was in. Gabriel had little time for emotional outbursts and tended to take care of them in quite a finalising manner. As in immediate eradication of them.
He hoped the young one would not test his limits. Maria, his housekeeper, frowned at cleaning up unnecessary bloodshed.
Thankfully, she took the hint and drifted off towards the bedroom to dress. There would be no death tonight.
Materialising from the shadows of a long hallway, Maria slowly shuffled to join Gabe at the large arched doorway to the balcony. "Had your fill so soon, Legatus? Not that I blame you, the young these days have no sense of class or refinement. I am amazed you still feel a need to fraternise with such base creatures," the older woman stated bluntly.
A soft smile tugged at Gabriel's full lips. Maria had been in charge of his household for the past forty years, and in that time had never acted the deferential servant. So her caustic remarks were not all that surprising.
"You will ensure Lorenzo takes..." Nope, he still could not recall a name. "...my guest wherever she desires," he finished, uncaring if his attitude appeared dismissive. Maria knew the drill, despite his absence from Rome since the early 2000s. Ah yes, what fun that time had been. The dawn of a new millennia had certainly been in a blaze of glory. And he was still cleaning up the mess.
"That would no doubt be your bed if she had her way," Maria snorted derisively. "But fear not, Legatus. I will see it done."
Their conversation was interrupted by the loud squawks of a black raven as it landed on the rail of the balcony outside.
"Holy Mary, mother of God," Maria burst out, crossing herself as any good Catholic would when confronted by such an ominous visitor. Ravens were believed to be the harbingers of death or other dark machinations. And no good Catholic left themselves open to such evil.
Gabriel merely raised one his perfectly sculpted brows at the noisy intruder. For him, ravens were nothing more than supernatural messengers - and he didn't like the idea of being summoned. "No need to panic, Maria. I am acquainted with this one. And he's no threat," Gabriel caustically provided. "On your way. The raven and I have business."
The bird squawked in reply, extending its wings to try and appear offended by the comment. Gabriel found the display laughable.
"Prefer to maintain your bird-like ways I take it? As you please, I am in no mood to play the host."
The raven settled and stared at him. Attached to its claw, a leather pouch was tied securely by a string. Pecking at the thick cord, the raven released his special delivery with a thud onto the stone railing.
"If that's all, you can be on your way, Shifter."
Cawing at such rude treatment, the raven flapped its large wings and took off, ending the encounter.
Gabriel eyed the leather pouch and instinctively rubbed his chest. He knew what it contained. The deep thump it made when landing had given its content away.
It was his Marker - and a Praetor's Marker was his word, his sworn duty to fulfil, no matter what the holder's request.
And now it was being called in.
An interesting turn of events, to be sure.
Gabriel walked over to a desk and picked up the elegant porcelain and gold telephone receiver. Dialling out, he waited as the line rang and rang.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Lash, arrange travel for three. You and Malachai will be accompanying me on a journey."
"When and where to?"
"Tomorrow. London."
Lash groaned. "London? Fuck, there goes summer."
Chapter One
London
"HANNAH, THANK YOU FOR meeting with me."
The older gentleman rose from his chair and offered his hand.
Lady Hannah Woodville, heir of the House Lyonsford, clasped the man's hand with warmth. "The honour is mine, Dr. Anderson. I have read many of your papers over the years and find them fascinating."
"How commendable. Not many have," Horatio replied in jest. "Please, sit. And call me Horatio. Dr. Anderson makes me feel like your professor, when it is your expertise I seek."
Joining him at the elegantly white draped table, the pair were quickly greeted by their waiter, a middle-aged man dressed in formal attire. "May I bring either of you a drink?"
"Vodka tonic, for me. Hannah?"
"Martini, stirred not shaken."
The waiter nodded and handed them menus before departing.
"Rather, anti-Bond of you," Horatio joked, referring to her drink order.
Hannah smiled. Men always found her drink preference amusing. "Yes, which sadly means I could never get the part. Rumour has it, they may have a woman play the infamous spy in the next round of films."
Horatio looked horrified at the prospect. "Where will the sacrilege end? Oh dear, I did not mean to give offence. Men my age, we still have our moments."
"O Brave New World," Hannah quoted with a grin. "As it happens, I agree with you. Shocking, I know. Please don't out me to the Feministas. My youngest sister, Rebeka, would be mortified if her cronies caught wind she was related to 'one of those' kind of women."
"Did I not just read that one Lady Rebeka Woodville was leading the charge for the reinstatement of the London Season? Forgive me, but that seems utterly counter to the cause. Doesn't it?"
Hannah laughed at Horatio's perplexed look. Rebeka was still spitting feathers over the Telegraph article. The journalist had totally missed the point she'd been trying to make and wrote it from the perspective of a young, rich, entitled brat wanting to reinstate the British Empire. She was so upset by it, she'd decided to leave London for awhile and join their parents at their latest archaeological site in Peru. Desperate times indeed. Rebeka loathed the great outdoors.
"My sister is unfortunately learning the hard way that the Oxbridge crowd can be a fickle lot. She's fallen in with the wrong crowd. Let's hope a few weeks in the Peruvian jungle sorts her out."
Horatio sat back in his chair to admire the woman across from him. She was so like his daughter, Simone. Wise beyond her years. And yet, still so young.
The waiter returned with their drinks and waited silently for further instruction. Dining at Claridge's was akin to time travel. The staff behaved as one would have found in any aristocratic dining room during the heyday of British society. They awaited instruction and acted accordingly.
"Have you dined here before?" Horatio asked Hannah.
"Winston, what do you think? Do I dine here often?" she remarked in a off-handed manner.
Their waiter visibly relaxed. He'd played his role well.
"The usual, Countess?"
"Winston, how many times must I say it? Hannah will suffice."
"Yes, Countess," the waiter replied drolly. It was no use, Winston had his ways and nothing Hannah said would change them.
Horatio guffawed under his breath. Screw 21st century conventions.
"What is the Countess's 'usual'?" he asked his fellow stuck-in-the-past compatriot.
"Lemon sorbet, to clear the palate, with a salad of spring greens to start. Main course, sous vide fillet of beef, medium-rare. Accompanied with a young, decanted, Chianti. Shall I have Henry decide the vintage, my lady?"
Hannah nodded. Claridge's sommelier's taste was impeccable.
Impressed, Horatio did not waste time looking at the menu. "Sounds delicious, make it two 'usuals'. You, know - when in Rome and all that."
"Very good, Sir. My lady."
After the waiter departed, Hannah nervously toyed with the olives in her glass. She always felt awkward when her title was used in front of strangers. And despite their both being members of the Ophanim Order - or the OO, as she preferred to call it
- Horatio was exactly that, a stranger.
Aware of the growing span of silence, Hannah decided to move their non-existent conversation onto Horatio's unexpected request to meet. "You mentioned requiring my expertise, but must confess, I am at a loss as to how my area has any bearing on the work you do. The study of the Western evolutionary anthropology and Genetic Medical research are not exactly renowned for their similarities."
Horatio laughed at her assessment. "You'd be surprised how the collaboration between completely unlikely cross-disciplines can provide some of the most powerful breakthroughs. I am hoping you and my daughter achieve such a feat. She highly recommended your inclusion on our small project team."
Surprised to learn that: a) he had a daughter. OO members were forbidden from having families. Absolute loyalty and devotion were blood-oaths given upon acceptance into the Order. And b) who on earth could his daughter be to highly recommend Hannah for their work? No one but fellow OO members knew what she was capable of doing. To the outside world, she was nothing more than a dedicated researcher working for the British Museum, not a powerful mystic able to glean information from touching objects. Not to mention her uncanny ability to draw obscure links of relevance to seemingly unrelated things. It was like she possessed a hyper-sensitive intuition when it came to researching old artefacts.
"Who is your daughter?" she asked bluntly, hoping his answer might provide further insight into what Horatio wanted.
"Simone Radcliffe."
Simone! Hannah had not thought of her for years. They had attended Godolphin's at the same time but were in completely different years. Yet, the two had become study buddies thanks to the sheer number of hours each had spent in the private school's Cromwell Library.
Hannah had missed Simone terribly when she'd graduated from A-level. Her departure resulted in Hannah becoming the lone freak in the library and earned her cruel nickname, Quasimodo.
The irony of the nickname was lost on the pea-brained girls who tormented her. Hannah was a far cry from being the grotesque hunchback of Notre-Dame.
Dowdy and lacking self-confidence perhaps, but her beauty could not be hidden. Her midnight black hair, striking amber eyes and Bernini sculpture perfection always drew attention from the opposite sex. Thick glasses and severe hairstyles only seemed to make their attempts at her seduction more of a challenge.
Thankfully, her penchant for hiding in the library limited her exposure. But nonetheless, the bitchier spectrum at Godolphin's resented her popularity with the boys on the rare occasions she'd dared to enter their arenas of power. Which was pretty much everywhere outside of her room and the library.
There were few girls from that time Hannah would call a friend and Simone happened to be one of them.
"Horatio, I am...well, speechless to be honest. When I knew Simone, she said she was an orphan, having recently lost her parents in a terrible car crash," Hannah confessed. "And as for her recommendation for assistance, I cannot even begin to imagine how she knows about my work at the Order...Hold on a minute, isn't Simone...well, I don't know how to put this delicately...dead? I'm sure my sister Rebeka told me she passed away last year."
Taking a sip from his drink, Horatio carefully observed the young woman. Simone had warned him that being too blunt with her might lead the conversation into territory unsuitable for public discourse. Since his daughter's ascension into vampyre, she'd been gaining more and more access to her bloodline's capabilities. Being half-Fae, half-Vamp did not come with the standard powers and it was through them that Simone had tracked Hannah Woodville down.
The fact Simone had a history with her was pure coincidence. Well, at least that was as far as either he or his daughter were prepared to go with the notion. They had enough on their plate at the moment without adding the exploration of synchronicity in Simone's life.
"Simone did recommend that she should accompany me this evening, but my more prudent nature did not want to take the risk of 'muddying the waters' any more than was needed. And I am beginning to think she was correct. I'm making a meal of this."
Concerned she was coming across as being difficult, Hannah replied, "No, you're not. 'Tis me. I was just shocked by the news about Simone being alive and well...your daughter. Please, tell me how I can help the two of you. We can discuss the rest of it another time."
Horatio breathed a sigh of relief. Things had become so emotionally charged in the past few weeks with the confirmation of Simone's husband Dante being held captive and her best friend Penny's transformation into a pregnant, ice and fire, dragon. Good lord, he really didn't know where to start the conversation with the beautiful Countess.
The arrival of Winston with their sorbets provided a much needed breather.
Following his departure, Horatio decided to keep to mission specifics for the duration of their dinner. That alone would give them plenty to talk about. He'd let Simone handle the rest.
"We are in need of your expertise in locating a certain artefact. We believe it is part of the British Museum's restricted collection."
"Can you be a bit more specific? The restricted collection is made up of numerous classifications for objects. Without some sort of starting point it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack," Hannah explained.
"Well, let's see what we can narrow our search parameters down to, shall we? But first, tell me what you know about the Viking invasion of Scotland and Dragons?"
Chapter Two
GABRIEL LOUNGED IN the plush leather seating of the booth in the hotel bar. He always enjoyed his stays at Claridge's. It must hearken back to his time when it was run by Dick D'Oyly, the late nineteenth century hotelier and theatre magnate.
Those had been some good times. London was still the capital, but the cracks in the Empire 'where the sun never set' were beginning to show. Gabriel knew the story well, being of Empire stock himself, and present for the final descent of the Roman one. The only difference between the British and Roman Empires was the Romans had learned the art of adaptability as a survival mechanism to a much greater extent than the British.
Well, truth be told, the British Empire was actually no more than the offspring of the Roman one. But why upset the Brits now with that reality? Besides, the Empire had moved on once again. It now called itself America. Honestly, this thousand year reign of theirs seemed to go on forever.
As for the Vampyre world, its Empire still sat firmly in Old Blighty. And rightly so, no vampyre with any sense wanted the power to shift West. To hell with that trend.
"You came. I wasn't certain you would." Alessio Polidori stood before the booth, the vampyre to whom Gabriel had bestowed his Marker upon so long ago. And the fact that it was this particular vamp who possessed such power over Gabe could not have been more ironic.
"Alessio, are you implying I would not honour my oath?" Gabe asked with humour before his tone went colder. "Or do you believe your reign as Rex Absoluta so weak, I would ignore your summons as Grand Elder and resorted to calling in my Marker instead?"
And here's where the irony kicked in. As Legatus legionis of the Praetorian Guards, Gabriel was duty bound to serve and protect the head of the Vamp Empire, who at this time point in time, was none other than Alessio.
Problem was Gabe had turned his back on Lowerton when their incompetence as the newly established Head of the Empire resulted in the Praetorian Guard almost being wiped from existence. Only his transformation into Praetor and Legatus at the moment of their annihilation had ensured their continuance and subsequent rise again.
"It's nice to see you again too," Alessio returned dryly, joining him in the booth. "A bit of deference for your Ruler would not go amiss. I do have the authority to have you executed at my whim."
"Authority and enactment are not the same thing. Best of luck finding an assassin able to do as you command. Sadly, the only one you could rely on with such an impossible task would be...me."
Alessio stiffened. "Very well, you've made your point. Let's have a drink and dis
cuss business," he said, signalling the bartender to send someone to serve them.
Within moments, an attractive young woman appeared at the booth. "Good evening, gentlemen. How may I be of service?"
Gabriel gave her a long assessing look. She was a pretty little morsel, but her eyes were far too jaded for his liking. Not innocent enough. Pity.
"A 21 year old Glenfiddich, neat," Gabe replied seductively. She may not be to his usual tastes, but he did enjoy toying with human women. They were so easily played.
The young woman flushed, clearly unsettled by his attention. "And for you, sir?"
Alessio wanted to laugh but held himself in check. He knew the consequence of siring offspring was a long slow aging process, resulting in ultimate death. But he was younger than Gabriel by half a century and certainly not a 'Sir', despite his slightly older appearance.
"Bring the bottle and two glasses."
The young woman flounced off, making an effort to show the sway of her hips in invitation. Shocking behaviour. Even in the hallowed bar of Claridge's, the promise of 'further service' was still on offer. Dick would be pleased.
"Perhaps we can cut to the chase, Rex Alessio," Gabe drawled, deftly turning his Marker along his knuckles. "Am I here to be your Legatus or oath-fulfiller?"
Alessio leaned back to assess the vampyre he hoped would be his saviour. The last time he'd seen Gabriel had been on that fateful night in 1666, when he'd saved his life and earned the Marker he'd called-in to summon Gabe. He also knew how deeply Gabriel resented Lowerton's failure to protect the Praetors and had his doubts about whether or not the vampyre would have responded to his request as Grand Elder. But the turmoil across the Empire, as well as Alessio's personal issues, required the help of both Gabriel the Legatus and Oath-fulfiller.